


thus, with a kiss

by lusterrdust



Series: somewhere in time [1]
Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Heavy Angst, Love, Period Piece, Star-crossed, Strangers to Lovers, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-11-08 11:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11080578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusterrdust/pseuds/lusterrdust
Summary: "He’s the lowly servant, she is the daughter of a nobleman…they are so different, so achingly different, he forces himself to remember this is the right decision, however wrong it may feel." [bughead, period piece au]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> something different that fit my mood today
> 
> hope you enjoy xoxo

 

 

>  ▱◯♕
> 
> _“_ _We were nothing more_  
>  than star-crossed lovers,  
>  tangled up in what could  
>  have been _.”_  
>  — _Angela Marie Alfaro_
> 
>  ◯

She meets him on her eleventh birthday, her father’s Housekeeper, Geraldine, scolding him as he is caught stealing food from the kitchens. A stable boy, with scraggly hair and blue eyes she’s heard her sister read through thick texts of that would akin them to clear skies and rapid waters.

She hears his name is Forsythe, and her fingers curl around the thick wooden door to watch as his cheeks flush at the older woman’s stern voice. His stomach growls loudly, her own ears catching the rumbling from her hidden position at the doorway.

“Now, swab the floors in the barn at once before punishments are imposed on you, Forsythe.” Geraldine’s voice murmurs, her gray hair perched in a tight bun on her head. “If the job is done well, I shall save an extra roll of bread from my supper for you. Is this agreeable?”

“Yes, Miss Geraldine.” The boy with dirt covered cheeks replies, excitement in his tone at the prospect of more food being presented to him.

When he runs off to do his chores, she tries to sneak away before her foot catches on the rug just past the threshold.

“Elizabeth!”

Betty lowers her gaze shamefully and turns to the woman, folding her hands across her periwinkle dress. “Yes, Miss Geraldine?”

“Oh, child!” The old woman huffs, scurrying over to usher her out of the kitchen. “You know better than to eavesdrop on private conversations!”

“Forgive me, Miss Geraldine.” Betty answers regretfully, her cheeks coloring in shame at breaking a rule. “I only wanted an apple.”

“There are plenty of apples outside, dearest.” Geraldine tells her as they walk through the estate toward the front parlour. “Now run along and get some fresh air. We’ll be back to reading before supper.”

Betty walks in a hurried pace, until the old woman is no longer in sight and she can sprint out into the yard toward the apple trees near the barn. Clutching her dress at the front, she gives no care to the damp soil over the morning’s light rainfall, and is sure her mother will scold her in the evening when she returns covered in mud, but right now she doesn’t care. Her hands pluck an apple from the ground when she sees him—the stable boy.

He’s on his knees in the open barn, scrubbing the floors and talking to the horses inside as if they’ll respond. Thinking to her earlier witness of him and her Housekeeper’s conversation, she looks down to the fruit in her hand and lets her eyes roam the ground before collecting another shiny red apple.

“You have a peculiar name.” she tells him, approaching the open doors and holding the fruit at her side.

The boy jumps and stops his work, looking over his shoulder before rising to his feet. “What?”

“Your name.” Betty tells him, taking a step inside only to reel back when she sees her boot has left a mud print over clean floors. Biting her lip apologetically, she looks back up to see his brows furrow and his eyes regarding her curiously. “Forsythe. I’ve never heard such a name.”

“And you’re Elizabeth.” He responds in a drier tone, unhappy at her insipid observation. Obviously, there is no fear at her status on his end—not that she cares about such titles at frivolities anyway. He is simply regarding her as one child to another. “A rather common name, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” She shrugs, twisting the toe of her boot in the ground before holding the apple out toward him. “Would you like one?”

“Mr. Svenson says I’m not permitted to eat any food off the grounds without permission from Mister Cooper.” He tells her, making her frown when his stomach rumbles loudly again. His eyes fall to the fruit with poorly veiled hunger.

“Well,” Betty points her nose up proudly. “I’m a Cooper, and I say it is permitted. Here.”

When she thrusts her hand out at him again, he hesitates for only a moment before walking over to her and taking the fruit. When his teeth sink into the red treat with an audible crunch, Betty smiles and takes a bite from her own before speaking with her mouth full in an unladylike manner. “You can call me Betty, if you please. My sister does when it’s just the two of us.”

“Miss Pauline?” he questions, surprising her at his knowledge as she hadn’t seen him at all before today.

Nodding, Betty swallows her food and tilts her head, her wavy blonde hair falling out from its crowned braid over her head in frizzy wisps. “Yes. Mother doesn’t approve, she says they’re too informal, so Polly and I do it in secret.”

“Betty.” Forsythe tests the name, looking down at the apple before smiling lightly at her. “You can call me Jughead if you wish. In secret, as well.”

“Jughead?” Betty blinks before giggling. “Goodness! And I thought Forsythe was peculiar! How ever did you acquire such a silly name?”

 _Jughead_ smiles sheepishly and rubs a dirty hand on the brown and ratted breeches he’s wearing, reminding her of just how much trouble she’d be in if her parents caught her distracting lower staff from their duties with frivolous conversation.

“My father once told me that my head got stuck in a water jug when I was younger.” He explains with a light shrug. “I suppose the name stuck until he moved away.”

“Oh.” Betty nods as his tone becomes somber. She wants to ask about his father and why he’s not here, but she holds her tongue, not wanting to seem rude. “Jughead. It’s a strange name,” she says it slowly, looking ahead and taking a bite of her apple. “I shall call you that now. In secret.”

“Are you allowed to talk to me at all?” he asks, his tone revealing he already knows the answer.

“…No.” she admits with a frown before tossing her core out into the field, smiling at his wide eyes at her lack of etiquette. “But I suppose this can be our secret, too. What do you say, Jughead?”

Jughead looks to the apple core in his hands, no sweet flesh to nibble off anymore as he’d devoured the fruit to the pit of seeds. With a strong thrust, he sends it out into the direction Betty had thrown hers and sticks his hand out to shake. “I accept your terms, Miss Cooper.”

“Betty.” She corrects with a smile, excitement at a new friend taking hold of her.

Jughead grins crookedly as his calloused hand envelopes her soft one, the dirt from his own staining her palms and leaving a mark she wouldn’t know at the time would forever stick. “Betty.”  

…. …. ….

“But, soft. What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun—“

“No, no! Forsythe, stop.” Betty interrupts Jughead as they’re sat hidden in the leaves of the willow tree a half mile from her estate. The raven haired stable boy lowers his book with a frown at his interruption when she leans over his shoulder, her lavender scent invading his senses and leaving him staring at her wide eyes as she emphatically corrects his error of reading.

In the three years she’s known him, she’s made it her mission to teach him the art of literature. He’s no longer illiterate, but he knows it must remain a secret, like their friendship, to any members of the manor. Book clenched in his hand, he stares as Betty clasps her hands in front of her and looks upward committedly.

“But, _soft_! What light through yonder window breaks?” she quotes from memory, her blue eyes shining brightly as the words hang heavily around them in her zealousness. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! _Arise_ , fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she;” Betty turns to him and leans her head forward, eyes urgently holding his own. “Can you not _feel_ his passion? His ardency?”

His tongue darts out to lick his lips as the urge to push back the fallen strand of hair upon her cheek rises. He looks down and reads the text once more, seeing the words now with new life at her performance.

“Try again.” She urges, not impolitely, her hand on his shoulder.

Jughead clears his throat and stares down before trying with a bit more enthusiasm. “But, soft—“

“Elizabeth!”

The two tense in fright at the sound of her mother’s voice ringing out through the field. Betty gasps and yanks the book from his grasp, her eyes wide and panicked. “Oh, no!”

“Elizabeth?”

Betty turns to Jughead and places a finger to his lips, shushing him, though he’s not speaking, and gathers her dress slightly. “Meet me here tomorrow, at dusk. Mother is taking Polly to town after Father leaves, and you and I will have peace.”

Jughead nods, unable to deny her, though he knows their meetings have become riskier and riskier. “At dusk.”

She leans forward and plants a kiss on his cheek, her own dusted a pretty pink that reminds him of the flowers scattering the fields around them. _“Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”_

Her quote, along with the sweet burn of her lips on his skin, make his heart race in his chest as he watches her shimmy down the tree. He listens to the exasperated tones of her mother and hears Betty apologize and explain she was just doing a bit of reading before Missus Cooper rambles off into a lecture, their voices fading some minutes later. 

Jughead sits alone in the tree for a moment longer, just to be safe from prying eyes before looking up into the thicket of leaves above.

_“Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast…”_

….  …. ….

When Betty turns sixteen, she’s standing beside her sister and father in the stables with the Stable Master, Mr. Svenson, listening to him describe the athleticism of their new horse, and the traits of their new foal.

“He’s aptly, despite his slow growth.” The old man explains as her father hums and approaches the dark maned animal. “He will grow to be a fine steed, I’m sure.”

“And you say the mother has rejected him?” Her father asks as Polly wanders over to pet her own horse.

Betty, however, is distracted. Her eyes continuously dart to where Jughead is shoveling hay into an empty stall, his white servant’s tunic damp with sweat from midday’s sun. He glances up through the unmanageable hair falling over his eye and gives a secret smile before ducking his chin to resume his work.

The outline of his muscles under the fabric makes Betty’s stomach clench with an unknown feeling. She suddenly feels warm and wonders if her oldest friend has always looked so… _handsome_.

She’s heard it said that to love, is to burn—to be on fire from the inside out in the most satisfying of ways. She’s heard her sister talk of the feelings for their cousin, Jason, of whom she was to be married to in a fortnight.

Does she love Jughead?

Betty’s heart stutters now at the mere sight of him, his eyes, so deep and honest—they can stop her in her tracks without a word from his lips. She’s come to realize over a few short months that their meetings were becoming harder to maintain a secret. She feels as though she wants to be with him always, to hear him read to her, or watch his hands move as he tends the horses and work around the stables.

Betty catches herself wanting to touch his hair, his face—the very idea scandalous and positively forbidden in so many ways.

“—well care of by young Forsythe, here.”

His name snaps Betty from her reverie as the men turn to Jughead, his own eyes staying low to avoid eye contact until given permission to do so. A slow rage builds inside her at his misfortune, the discovery of his life of servitude due to his father’s gambling and tarnished name. He is so smart, so well-mannered and full of good humor. His wit and soft-heartedness, despite his misgivings, deem him far worthier to a life of freedom and happiness than others she’s met in their age.

“You, stable boy,” her father calls out as Betty inhales sharply, her heart hammering in her chest.

Jughead stops his work and stands erect, giving her father polite acknowledgement. “Yes, Mister Cooper.”

“You’ve been tending to this foal, have you?” Her father asks, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Do you believe him to make a fine steed as Mr. Svenson declares one day?”

“He is fast for his size. Underestimated, surely; but I believe that could be to his advantage were you ever to one day be interested in selling him for the city’s races.” Jughead responds respectfully, his eyes glancing to Betty quickly before falling back to the ground.

“With your daily duties, I don’t believe there’s much time for you to properly nurture such a young creature.” Her father states with a thoughtful look to his face, debating his options.

“I will nurture the foal.” Betty volunteers before she realizes what she’s doing, gaining surprised looks from those around her at the accidental eagerness to her voice. “I mean, I believe it’s suitable for me to learn such tasks, don’t you agree, father? Raising and nurturing?”

“Indeed.” Hal agrees, looking to the foal. “Very well. Elizabeth, Miss Geraldine will escort you here to tend…”

“Clarence.” Jughead interrupts before flushing a bright red at the glare Svenson sends his way for speaking out of turn. Clearing his throat, he says in a smaller voice, “His name is Clarence.”

“Right…” her father grimaces at the interruption before turning back to her. “You are to tend to Clarence twice a day for the next three weeks. Upon that time, I shall come back and see to it if there is hope for the sorry creature. If not, we shall see to it that he is taken care of. Forsythe shall tend to him in your absence, is this agreeable?”

“Of course, father.”

“Yes, Mister Cooper.”

As her father leads Betty and her sister from the stalls, she can’t help but risk one glance over her shoulder, only to feel her face and chest burn at the blue eyes connecting headily with her own.

…. …. ….

The task of taking care of the rejected foal had started with pure intentions.

Betty would arrive to the stables with the intent on not becoming distracted, even if Jughead was around. However, that changed the day Miss Geraldine forgot something of hers in the estate. Excusing herself with the promise to return shortly, the older woman left both Betty and Jughead alone.

He had kissed her one night after she snuck out of her room shortly after discovering her feelings for him. He’d been sitting by the fountains, a Charles Dickens leather textbook in his hands.

In nothing but her white slip, he’d paused under the moonlight glow and stood up at her unexpected presence.

She knew this was his spot in the dead of night. His quiet place.

Jughead’s eyes had flickered down over her form before she grabbed his hand and lowered them back beside the water. “Read to me?”

He’d read to her until the moon was high above them, casting beams down and painting their skin with a luminescent glow. His inky black hair looked positively irresistible, and she’d reached out to touch it before his hand caught her wrist.

“Betty,” his voice was dark and husky, a warning tinged with a hint of longing.

She knew this was forbidden. To even have any sort of relationship with someone below her status.

But status be damned! Betty knew Jughead was more than his title. He was human, and good, and he deserved _so_ much more.

“What?” she’d whispered, watching as his eyes skittered across her face and onto her lips, the movement of his adams apple sending a thrill through her chest. “What?”

And then, he had kissed her. Soft and sweet.

So unlike the way he’s kissing her now, her back pressed up against the hard wood of the barn walls, his body melded against her in a sinful manner. Betty’s eyelids flutter closed as his hand tangles into her wavy hair and ribbons of her dress laced from the back. Her corset doesn’t help the breath caught in her throat as he places open mouthed kisses there, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“Jug,” she gasps as his hands move to her ribs, his thumbs brushing upward to the bottom of her breasts and sending a shiver of molten pleasure at the motion. His breath is hot on her skin as he pulls back and stares at her face with unveiled emotion.

“The blush on your cheeks, the sweat on your brow—Elizabeth Cooper, you have me under a spell, don’t you?” he teases lightly, placing softer kisses over her cheeks, her jaw, and eyelids. “We shouldn’t do this—“

“Don’t say such things, Forsythe.” Betty frowns, wishing with all her might that their circumstances were different. She wishes they didn’t have to hide their true feelings, but alas, this is their reality, and seldom do the ways of the world and those in it take pity for others’ circumstances that are not their own. “I…I love you. I love you—“

His brows pinch, as if the words wound him but fill him with life all at once. He’s conflicted, and she wants nothing more than to soothe his hurt away. She cannot work any healing like that however, so she lets her hand cup his cheek, her thumb caressing the sun-kissed skin there. He is all svelte and hard work, his edges are hard, but his center soft as feather.

“Betty, don’t—“

“I do. Jughead, I can’t contain it any longer!” she professes, wrapping her arms around his neck. “My love for you grows stronger with each passing day. Can you stand there and deny the fact that you feel the same?”

“We are worlds apart—“

“Can love not branch the distance?”

“I’m a servant—“

“You are my friend, my _best_ friend—“

“You would tarnish your family’s name, shame them—“

“Do you not love me in return? Is that it?” she questions, her stomach turning over at the facts thrown at her.

Jughead cradles her neck and tilts her chin up with his thumb, staring so intensely at her, she feels weak in her knees when he finally replies with fervency, “I knew nothing of love before I met you, Betty Cooper. You are the very definition; my heart, my soul.”

“Then kiss me,” she pleads softly, gripping the front of his scuffed vest tightly. “Kiss me as if none of those things matter.”

He complies, curling his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck as his tongue parts her lips, drinking her in and swallowing the soft mewls and whines from her throat at the sensations he elicits. Betty wants to hold on to this moment forever; she wants to revel in the feel of him pressed against her, the security and love enveloping her like a warm heat on a frigid night.

She pours every ounce of love she feels for him in their kiss, hoping he feels her silent promise of forever while ignoring  the niggling feeling of unease burrowed deep in the far corners of her mind.

…. …. ….

“Betrothed!?”

Her heart is racing in her chest as she listens to her mother and father explain their upcoming event of her marriage—an event she hadn’t known about until five minutes prior. Her palms are wet with sweat and her stomach is twisting in knots, nausea working its way up her throat. “No…No, I won’t!”

“You will.” Her mother retorts, no patience in her tone. “The Mantle’s are very well esteemed and this arrangement has been planned for years. Our families joining together for this union is beneficial to all of us, darling. You will be well taken care of when your father eventually passes—“

“But I don’t know a thing about him!” Betty protests, tears in her eyes as she tries to picture someone other than Jughead to spend her life with. She’s engaged… she’s to be _married_!

“I do not love him! Father, please!” she turns to her father, hoping to elicit some type of sympathy, but his features remain resolute as well.

“Love does not give you a roof over your head or food on the table, Elizabeth.” Her mother snaps impatiently before waving her hand to the empty seat. “Sit back down. Your father and I have heard nothing but nice things about Reginald. You two will be a smart match.”

Betty feels hot tears sting her eyes, the panic and turmoil bubbling inside her the longer she listens.

“Your sister has gone off already, she’s found security and stability. You’re nearly seventeen, Elizabeth! Do you want to become a pauper? An old maid? That’s what will happen if you refuse this offer!”

She can’t outright proclaim her heart belongs to someone else—though she finds herself biting her tongue to keep from doing just that. Her voice is coarse when she speaks, clenching her eyes shut. “I don’t _want_ to marry him.”

“Then you will live a life of suffering.” Her mother replies hotly, her nerves frayed from Betty’s stubbornness. “Everything will go to Jason when your father dies. You will be left with nothing. You will have _nothing_.”

“And what of my happiness? Of love?” Betty whispers brokenly as her mother responds ina softer tone.

“You will _learn_ to love your husband, in time.”

She does not see Jughead around the corner, his back pressed against the wall and eyes clenched in despair at what he’s heard. His body is stiff with the heartache of what he’s been dreading all these years finally happening before he pushes himself off the wall and outside the manor.

It’s not long before Betty races to him, the sun already dipped beneath the horizon as the stars paint the black night’s sky. Her hands are clenching her dress, her eyes red and nose matching in color. She looks exactly as Jughead feels, and he wants to push her away, to save them both more heartache—but she falls into him and he is helpless but to succumb.

“Make love to me, Jughead.” Betty whispers, cupping his face and stealing the very breath in his lungs.

Her plea, so ardent, so pure, it awakens something primal in him, alongside the devotion already there. He means to say _, ‘No, Elizabeth. We can’t.’,_ but instead, Jughead utters “Anything for you.” and is pulling the laces to her corset minutes later until nothing is left but soft flesh and warm lips.

Their movements are slow and filled with so much emotion, Jughead finds himself wiping tears from Betty’s eyes in the heat of it all. She’s warm around him, and her body invites his own in like it has always meant for it to be there. There’s an aching feeling when they’re done, lying in an entanglement of limbs under the willow tree as an evening chill forces her to nuzzle his neck.

“I’m to be married by the end of the summer.” She manages through a tight throat, her tears falling onto the skin of his neck and leaving burning holes in their wake.

Jughead closes his eyes and swallows the knot in his throat. “I know.”

Betty leans onto her forearm and stares down at him, blue eyes piercing his own with determination. Her hair billows over them like a curtain, keeping them safe from the world on the other side of it, if only for a moment. “Let’s run away together. You and me, we can go somewhere new—somewhere nobody knows our names or titles.”

“And what?” Jughead frowns, feeling his chest tighten at the lure of her offer’s temptation. “Be forced into poverty until you grow to resent me?”

“Jughead…” her body tenses with hurt at his words, her eyes misting over.

“Betty, you deserve a life better than what I can offer you.” Jughead tells her, hating the words that fall from his lips. They’re acid to voice, but pushes forward. “I can give you nothing but the clothes on my back. You will have nothing, no dowry, no home—“

“I’ll have _you_.” She states adamantly, as if that is enough. And _God_ , does Jughead want it to be enough. But he can see her future with him, a lowly servant. It’s bleak and less than what she deserves. Betty Cooper, he knows, deserves the stars and the heavens. She deserves silk and lace and stability and more than what he can scrape up to offer, even in a lifetime.

“I love you.” Jughead tells her, though it sounds nothing like a declaration of feeling, but much more like a goodbye. “I’ve loved you since I was eleven years old.” 

Betty’s crying now, chest heaving with pain as she tries to silence him with wet kisses, her fingers clutching his neck and the unruly hair at the nape of it. “Stop it.”

“I will always love you.” He continues, brushing her curls behind her ear and wrapping an arm around her waist, imprinting the feel of her against him in his brain.

“Forsythe,” she buries her nose into the crook of his neck, crying softly. So much of her is given to him that night, her body, her soul, her heart—she loathes to leave his embrace when the first rays of sunrise streak across the sky.

“Run away with me.” She tries again, and he’s at the cusp of throwing all caution to wind before he _really_ looks up at her, all pink and gold, the light of dawn casting an ethereal glow around her. He won’t tarnish her name, he won’t allow her to suffer because of his love for her.

“We can be together, in another life.” Jughead promises, feeling his heart clench and then shatter at the way her face drops. “I feel it. Our spirits, they’re two halves of a whole—“

“I can’t live without you.” Betty protests as he shakes his head.

“You _can_. You have to.” He replies, cradling her cheek and kissing her tenderly. “You’re so much stronger than you think; far stronger than anyone we know. Believe that we will be together in the next life.”

“I want _all_ of our lives together.” She responds weakly, her eyes downcast and bloodshot from the crying. “Every life, you and me.”

He makes love to her one last time before she slips away.

Jughead feels cold, vacant.

A fortnight later, when he witnesses the arrivals of the Mantle’s, he slips away to the shadows of the barn, tending the horses and keeping himself busy as pieces of his heart lay in shattered pieces on the floor.

When Betty walks down the aisle a week after that, him hidden carefully in the shadows, away from prying eyes, Jughead repeats the belief that this is for the best in his head. She will learn to love her husband, she will be treated like the angel he knows her to be, and she will never want for more.

Her eyes, usually sparkling like gems, are dimmed as she repeats the priest’s vows. Then, her eyes move up, and like a magnetism they cannot deny, she spots him.

They lock gazes until she looks away, not wanting to lead the others to discover his presence.

However, toward the end of the ceremony, Betty catches his gaze once more as she speaks, “To cherish, until death parts us, I do declare my eternal and everlasting love.”

Jughead doesn’t stick around to see the bride and groom seal their vows with a kiss. He grabs the frayed copy of the first book Betty had taught him to read and climbs into the willow tree, leaning his head against the bark and wishing the pain away until it ebbs with an almost sort of numbness.

There’s sounds of celebration in the distance that drives the dagger deeper into his chest, him knowing his whole life has changed irrevocably with just a single day. He’s the lowly servant, she is the daughter of a nobleman…they are so different, so achingly different, he forces himself to remember this _is_ the right decision, however wrong it may feel. He prays that one day, in a different life or time, they will be together. That they _can_ be together.

He opens the book in his lap and fingers the letters on the page, hearing her voice, like a melody he knows now will forever haunt his dreams, read the words there. Whispering to drown out the noise, Jughead reads aloud;

_“Thus with a kiss, I die.”_

.fin.


	2. i die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd

> ▱◯♕
> 
> _“Thus, with a kiss, I die.”_  
>  _—William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet_
> 
>  ◯

 

She thinks maybe he hates her now; and truthfully, she wouldn’t blame him were that the case. Most days, Betty hates herself. The selfishness in forcing him to be a bystander to a marriage she never desired. 

After the marriage to Reginald Mantle, Betty had persuaded her father to take the foal she’d been tending to, to her new home with the added help of Forsythe.

The look he’d given her was not one she was used to. It was a mix of emotions, all poorly concealed fury and hurt. Yet, he’d put no fuss up, and nodded politely to Reginald as he was addressed and spoken to regarding the animal.

“Don’t you fret, Mr. Jones,” Reginald had spoken with a smooth voice when they’d settled into their home and introduced her to the small staff there. He had then shown her beloved his quarters, and Betty was relieved and surprised to find it was a decent room, indeed. “You’ll settle nicely here, I assure you. Mr. Connelly is reaching his golden years with his ripe age, and his tending to our animals has been slowed for some time now because of it. My wife speaks so fondly and surely of your work ethics, I have no doubt you’ll become a vital part to this home and family.”

It was a shock to discover that while her new husband was not a modest fellow, he was indeed a kind one. In the first few months of her marriage, she was pleased to discover he was not the monster her mind had conjured her to believe, though the bitterness she felt toward his family for suggesting their match hadn’t dwindled entirely.

Selfishly, Betty spent so much of her free time in the stables, fooling her husband to believe she was a horse enthusiast. While she did enjoy riding Clarence, and tending to him, it was Jughead who had her full attention.

The way he looked at her, the way he helped her in the saddle, his fingers lingering on her thigh and eyes locked with her own.

It’s cruel to have succumbed her beloved to a life of wistful glances and heated whispers of touch. It hadn’t been long until their tensions reached a head, and her empty vows to her husband were decimated at the press of Jughead’s lips against her own. It happened again and again, in the stables, in their home… right under everyone’s noses.

Jughead’s declarations of love are so heavy in moments of secret liberation, when she can steal his affections for a few moments of privacy and sob with pleasure at the way his deft fingers explore every curve and contour of her body. 

Yes, it’s cruel. 

Cruel to leave the cold walls of the stables from the arms of the man she loves, to the one who waits patiently in their marriage bed, of whom she shares a last name with. 

It’s very cruel. 

But, she wonders through the dull ache in her chest as she stares to the man at her side, his eyes closed in sleep as his ignorance to her infidelity remains a double-edged secret, when has love ever been kind?

… … …

“Pregnant?” Betty blinks at the doctor, her jaw slacked as she sits on her bed, hands to her stomach. “With—with child?”

“Indeed, Mrs. Mantle.” The old man packs his items away in the small white bag he carries with him. “I offer my warmest congratulations. Surely, it’s happy occasion for a handsome couple such as yourselves! You must be delighted!”

Delighted? _Delighted_?

Betty feels her heart hammer roughly against her chest, the fear of who this growing child in her belly belongs to. She’s far from delighted. Ill, more like. Of course, regardless of biology, the baby will belong to Reginald—Reggie, as he’d insisted she call him—the child will belong to Reggie, as much as she loathes to admit it.

“Something’s bothering you.” Jughead tells her later in the day as he crouches by a bucket of water in the stables, scrubbing the floors while she tends to Clarence. He wipes at the sweat dangling from his brow with his forearm, pushing the hair stuck to his skin back until there is only a clear view of the deep blue in his eyes.

Betty looks away, feeling the tightening in her chest burn. She clenches the reigns on her horse as the brush in her grip shakes against his hair. “I—“

“Elizabeth?” Her husband’s voice startles her as he comes walking in to the stables, a booming smile on his face. Her heart lurches into her throat, and her gaze glances to Jughead. “There you are!”

“Reg—“

“I’ve just spoken with the doctor!” He beams, rushing to her side and staring at her in wonder. “Are you feeling well? What shall I help with?”

Jughead’s expression shifts into one of concern at the words, his forearms pressed against his knees before he pushes himself into a standing position, dropping the rag from his grip into the water bucket. “Are you ill?”

Reggie swivels, barely taking notice of him and frowning at his presence and words.

“No.” Betty answers before her husband can speak, smiling weakly at Jughead. “No, I’m not ill, just…”

“Forsythe, forgive me, I did not see you.” Reggie smiles before tugging Betty gently by the arm. “Would you excuse us, please. I must speak privately with my wife.”

“Of course.” Jughead manages through a strong grimace, his eyes flickering over Betty’s form. “Mr. Mantle. Betty.”

When he leaves, Betty furrows her brows at her husband’s frown. “What is it?”

“That man is too familiar with you.” Reggie tells her, his gaze moving toward the entrance of the barn doors where her beloved had exited. “ _’Betty’_ , is it?”

Pursing her lips, Betty gives him a look and pulls her arm from his grip. “I have known him since we were children. He has been a dear friend.”

“ _Friend_.” Reggie chuckles, though there is no humor in it. He closes his eyes, as if internally debating with himself over something. When they reopen, she knows then he is aware by some measure of her activities. “You must think me either blind or stupid to not notice the glances between you and him.”

“Reggie—“ she quickly tries to protest before he turns and wipes his hands over his face in an agitated manner.

“Don’t presume to lie to me, sweet wife.” He grunts, a twitch to his brow and a sad look in his eye. “I’m the master of cunning tactics, and were your actions not at the expense to my pride and honor, I’d commend you on them. I know you are not in love with me. You did not ask for this marriage, and nor did I, but…”

Betty holds her breath as she listens to his words, feeling a twinge of regret for hurting him, but never for the love she has for Jughead. How can she feel guilt for something she had no control over? How can she feel guilt for something as pure as the love she knows exists between her and Jughead? She can’t. She doesn’t.

“I’m sorry to have caused you any grief, Reggie.” She says sincerely, “You must know this marriage has not been easy for me.”

“Nor I.” Reggie sighs, turning around and facing her again. He grabs her hand and rubs a thumb over her palm. “Elizabeth… I know the feeling of heartbreak. You are not the only person to have suffered losses with this marriage, but… I will not be made a mockery of. Not in my own home.”

Betty swallows thickly and feels her eyes water. “I don’t understand…”

“I’ve been patient with you. I’ve given you everything you have asked for—I’ve been understanding—! _Please_ , I know we might never love as truly with each other as we have those we left behind during our vows, but we—is it asking too much that we have _care_ for one another?”

“Do not punish him.” Betty pleads, clutching his hand. “It was my own selfishness that brought him away from my father’s house! I—It’s not asking much. I want to care—I _do_ care for you!“

“I can’t allow this to continue, Elizabeth.” He interrupts her softly, his eyes stern and his tone leaving no doubt in her mind that he means it. “I will not be dishonored on my own property. Not when we have a child on the way.” He pauses briefly before narrowing his gaze. “This _is_ my child. Whatever has happened between you and Mr. Jones, this child _is_ mine.”

There is much Betty dreams about that night.

She dreams of a life where there aren’t bounds tying her down. She dreams of a small cottage where she and Jughead live in freedom, where nothing is hidden, nothing is wrong, nothing is forbidden. She dreams of a dark haired, blue eyed baby in Jughead’s arms. A baby who will call him ‘ _Papa’_ when he learns to speak.

But life is not so kind, and neither is the look in Jughead’s eyes when she sneaks into his chambers that night.

Betty kisses him before he can utter a word, pushing him against the wall and clutching the fabric of his shirt between her fingers as if he’ll disappear at any moment. He groans under her touch, resisting at first before gripping her waist and digging his fingers in the cotton of her slip.

“Betty,” Jughead clenches his eyes shut as her fingers move across the expanse of his bare chest through the unbuttoned fabric. Her nails rake against his skin, drawing out a hiss from his lips until he pushes her onto his bed. She whines in delight at the way his hands itch to rip at her clothing, before her slip is pushed past her breasts. “God, this is…”

“Shh,” she whispers, furrowing her brow as his lips press hot kisses against her neck and breasts, until they linger at her stomach. He pauses, opening his eyes and stares at her midriff. “Let’s have this moment for us. Please.”

Still, Jughead only stares.

And then, all too soon, he’s gone. Pushing himself away from her, sitting on the heels of his feet as he stares down at her. His chest heaves with the erratic breathing of their lust, and he clenches his fists on his thighs. “I can’t.” he says brokenly, “Betty, we can’t.”

Betty could’ve been slapped and it would’ve felt as similar in pain. Looking at him with hurt in her gaze, she slowly pulls her slip back down and sits up, moving closer toward him. “Juggie…”

“We both knew this wasn’t going to end well for us.” He says, abruptly standing. “I…God, I wish more than life itself that I could love you freely—openly. I’ve made you an unfaithful woman—“

“You haven’t made me anything, Forsythe! Stop speaking like this.” Betty watches helplessly as he ties his breeches back up. She moves to touch him, but he steps away, a wounded look on his face. “I love you. You are the only person I will ever love! Nothing can change that!”

“Not even the child that grows inside you?” he retorts, and she should’ve known he’d been listening in to the conversation she’d had earlier with Reggie.

She swallows thickly and presses her palms against the tiny curve of her tummy, watching as his eyes stare longingly at the gesture. It’s in this moment she hates their situation more than ever. Even if the baby is his, it can never be… not truly, anyway. She feels like the worst person in the world then, to have put him in this situation in the first place.

“Your husband’s been nice enough to offer me a place at his brother’s estate.” Jughead says stiffly, turning finally as time comes to a still for her. “I suppose my only surprise is in knowing it has taken this long to happen.”

“You can’t go!” Betty finally speaks, her voice hoarse in the exclamation. “Jughead, you mustn’t—!“

“Or what, Betty? Where do you see us in five years? Ten years, hm? Me, living here with the horses and pigs as I watch you and your husband day in, and day out? What kind of life is that for me!?”

His words wound her, but she knows it’s a small comparison to the pain he feels—a pain so deeply tangible in his voice.

He grabs her hands then, his own eyes glossy with unshed tears. Lifting them, his lips press firmly against them, his lids closing as his touch leaves more than just touch against her skin. It feels like a goodbye of sorts, and there’s no relent in the way her heart shatters beneath her breast.

“If you truly love me,” he begins thickly, staring at her as he lowers her hands down between them but keeps them in his grip. “you’ll let me go. You’ll... you’ll find happiness without me.”

“I will _never_ —“ she begins to shake her head, blonde waves bouncing at the movement.

“You _must_.” He interrupts hotly before his gaze softens and his voice lowers. “For me. For _you_.”

_If you love me…_

It tears at every nerve in her body, scrapes at every part of her bones. Betty can do nothing to hold back the tears in her eyes and the knot in her throat. It’s only after a few long, tension filled moments that she nods, silently agreeing. She knows she can never truly be happy without him, but she can no longer subject him to a pain she’s selfishly put him through.

“Tell me you love me.” She pleads when he’s inside her a short while later after they’ve spoken, her tears clinging to her lashes as she prays for this moment to last forever.

Jughead kisses the corner of her eyes, soaking up her tears as his hips press against her own in long languid strokes. “I love you.” He murmurs, again, and again. So _earnest_ , so sincere… Betty weeps with both desperation and ecstasy when they both reach their peak.

“Elizabeth,” he groans, dipping his head into the curve of her neck before pressing kisses there.

His hand rests afterward on her belly, and the peace wavers.

“Remember the night we spent under the tree?” she presses his hand against her flesh, whispering and thinking back to the moment they made love beneath the stars.

“Of course.” Jughead responds, just as softly, his hand rubbing circles over the swell of her stomach. “I will never forget it.”

“I wish we had run away together.” She admits as he wipes the moisture from her eyes. “I wish I had never gotten married.”

“You being safe and taken care of is all that matters to me, Betty.” Jughead tells her. “Reginald keeps you safe. He—he cares for you.”

“I don’t want to speak of him.”

“He will love you.” He tucks a curl behind her ear, pushing the words off his tongue. “If I were worthy of you—“

“You are _more_ than worthy.” Betty says fervently. “You have always been!”

When Jughead kisses her and swallows her protest to his insecurities, she’s lost in his taste. Dawn approaches far too soon, and she spends the fortnight in bed after his departure. The servants believe it only a side effect to her pregnancy, but she and Reggie know such is not the case.

She gives birth to a darling little boy nearly seven months later.

Reginald says nothing about the way the boy resembles his brother’s stable master. But he loves him all the same.

Betty loves her son more than anything, more than any human being in the world. He is her treasure, her light…he is the only piece of her beloved that she has left.

Pendleton Mantle.

Her husband never suspects, for she is the only one to be told such an intimate detail about her beloved’s personal self.

In a way, Jughead had been right. Reggie does care for her, and though his suspicions about their son are never voiced, never made real by the utterance of what he knows to be true, his affections toward little Pendleton softens Betty’s heart toward him.

When they have another child, another boy, she watches closely how he treats them both. Reggie is unwavered in his love and affection for the children, both in equal measure.

The years pass by slowly, and yet, they also pass too quick. Time is so fickle, really.

Betty grows to love her husband. Not in the way she loves Jughead, for the love she has for him is something else entirely, and unfading. No, she loves her husband as a part of her family. He is the father of her children—the three she ends up having—, and he dotes on her with every kindness and affection any wife would be lucky to have.

When he falls ill after their twenty years of marriage, he asks her on his death bed if he’d made her happy.

“Yes.” Betty whispers sincerely, grasping his bony hand in her own. His sickness had been swift and unforgiving, and she feels the encroaching pain of grief eat at her core when it takes him away from her.

It’s barely a year later that it reappears in herself this time.

She lays on her bed, listening to her daughter play the pianoforte from the next room over. As she mulls her life over to distract herself from the physical pain she feels, Betty can think only of one person. One person she wishes more than anything she could see again.

Her kerchief is soiled in blood as she coughs into it, and her second son, Lewis, stands by her side worriedly.

“Here, mother.” He pulls a clean cloth from his pocket before wiping at her mouth. “Don’t strain yourself. Pen will be here soon, and we will make sure the Doctor does everything he can to bring your good health back.”

They both know there is no treatment to the illness that takes more than just her health from her.

In these moments of self-reflection, Betty realizes the memory of Jughead had never died. Nor did the image of him after so long. Not when her son wears the same face.

“Mother.” Pendleton takes her hand, his bright blue eyes scanning her body with a frown. “Everything will be fine. The Doctors have said there may be a cure for this cough.”

Unfortunately for Betty, there is not.

Her body grows weaker, and her strength deteriorates slowly.

Her children stay by her side, and she loves them all the more for it. It doesn’t stop her from insisting they get back to their own lives, though neither of them do.

“Just tell us what we can do, Mother.” Charlotte says one particular evening to her, lying at her side as Lewis reads aloud to them in the corner, with Pendleton leaning against the fireplace. “Are you comfortable?”

Betty knows what she asks them next is puzzling.

“There is…one thing.”

… … …

When he walks through the door four days later, Betty weeps.

Years seem to disappear when Jughead falls to his knees beside her bed, his face aged, but still undeniably handsome. Her heart soars at the touch of his hand against her cheek, and she closes her eyes, pretending for a short moment that they are young once more and free to love one another.

“You came.” She whispers before falling into a bout of coughing.

The kerchief is bloody when she peels it from her mouth, and the tears in Jughead’s eyes are proof that the feelings between them had never faded from him as well. What they shared had been real— _is_ real.

“Of course I did.” Jughead tells her, pushing her hair from her face with a gentle caress. His eyes hold her own with soft tenderness. “I have never been able to deny your call for me.”

“Even after all this time?” she murmurs teasingly, though there is some apprehension and insecurity in her question.

“And longer.” He answers as his gaze holds.

Betty introduces Jughead to her children, and she can see the tension in his shoulders and the sheen in his eyes when she introduces Pendleton. Polite as they are, her children grant her and Jughead privacy as they leave for bed.

“So.” she starts, rubbing her thumb against his hand. “Tell me about your family.”

He tells her, and there is no jealousy or contempt in her heart when she hears the happiness in his voice. Jughead has one son with his wife, Forsythe the Fourth, and the love there is undeniable.

“Was he good to him?” he asks her a short while later, when they are content to just be in each other’s presence.

There’s no need for clarification as Betty answers, “Very much so. Reggie loved him dearly. Never treated him any differently than Lewie or Charlotte.”

Jughead nods at that before his eyes flicker to her own. “And you? Did he love you?”

“He did.”

“And…you, him?”

Betty licks her lips and ceases the movement of her fingers against his hand. She inhales deeply, fighting the urge to cough at the pain it brings in her chest. “As I could with only a fracture of the heart still left in me… There is only one who has owned its entirety, with its desires carried in it.”

From her side, she watches as Jughead swallows at her words. “I never forgot about you, Betty.” He finally whispers. “Never. Through every part of my life, I thought of you always.”

“And I, you.” She responds lightly, her breath caught in her throat from his admittance. “I can’t leave this life without you knowing how much I love you. Through it all, I love you even still.”

He kisses her softly then, and for one blissful moment, Betty feels the warm sensation one only experiences when they come home. He is her home.

“I’ll love you until my last breath, Elizabeth Cooper.”

Betty lets go of his hand and reaches behind her, grabbing a book from her bedside table before handing it to Jughead. “Will you read to me?”

Jughead nods, grasping the weathered book in his hands before releasing a shaky chuckle at the title. _“Romeo and Juliet_.” He looks to her with a slight grin. “It always was your favorite.”

“Only when you read it to me.” She teases, smiling lightly.

Her body shudders with pain, but Betty conceals it, unwilling to disturb this moment of bliss… It all feels like a dream. One she doesn’t want to wake up from. Jughead reads to her, and Betty closes her eyes, sighing wistfully at the sound of his voice. She can imagine the two of them on the fountain in the dead of night at her childhood home.

She can picture it all too easily: Jughead sitting there, adorably oblivious to the way his beauty shines brighter than the moonlight and all the stars in the sky. His voice, hushed and sure, sends a shiver of delight down her back. He’s there on the fountain, eyes moving away from worn pages to gaze lovingly at her own.

If she pretends hard enough, Betty can feel the cool breeze on her skin and moving through her hair. She can feel the heavy weight of his hand on her bare leg and the twitch of his knuckles against the hem of her slip.

Her body feels lighter the longer Jughead reads to her in her bed.

She takes one long breath before falling asleep, a final exhale hanging off her lips before the last words he speaks hang in the air around her;

_“A glooming peace this morning with it brings;_  
_The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:_  
_Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;_  
_Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:_  
_For never was a story of more woe_  
_Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”_

 

_.fin._


End file.
